


And Then They Live Happily Ever After

by Selkit



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, Egregiously Shameless Fluff, F/M, K-2 Being Snarky, Kid Fic, Marriage, Mild Innuendo, Parenthood, Slice of Life, Weddings, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: Cassian and Jyn start a family. K-2SO is less than enthused. Bodhi knits baby sweaters.Or, basically what it says on the tin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so...I'm not very well-versed in babyfic. I really have no excuse for this. I guess after the feelings meat-grinder that was _Rogue One_ , I just felt the urge for the sappiest most fluffy domestic everyone-lives AU I had in me.

He saw her at the back of the ship, silhouetted against the vibrant blaze of orange-white, and despite the gravity of the situation he couldn’t help but smile. 

“How many times is this, now?” he asked, coming up beside her, watching out the viewport as the explosion faded in the wake of the ship’s exhaust.

The aftershocks buffeted the ship, but the worst was over, and he could hear a soothing, steady beep as K-2 plugged hyperspace coordinates into the navicomputer. Jyn tore her gaze from the window, arching her brows at Cassian in an expression that had become familiar to him mere moments after he’d first met her.

“How many times is what?” she said, and though her eyes were narrowed, he heard a hint of playfulness in her tone.

“How many times have we escaped certain death in a perilous explosion by mere seconds?” Cassian said. “This must be, what, the fourth? Fifth?”

Jyn broke into a smile, cracking the soot and dirt caked over her face, remnants of the close call. “I’d say we have it down to an art form by now, wouldn’t you?” Then she lowered her voice, waggling her eyebrows like she was about to tell him a secret. “Keep it down, or Kay will be all too happy to tell us exactly how many times it’s been. In great detail. With plenty of complaining.”

“I _can_ hear you, you know.” K-2’s peevish voice rang from the cockpit, his head swiveling toward them. “And Cassian is right. It has been five times, now. First on Jedha, then Eadu, then the escape from Scarif, then from the facility on Boz Pity, and now today. You are all very fortunate to have such a devoted and punctual droid as your pilot.”

“Ah, excuse—excuse me,” came Bodhi’s voice, softer but still clear. “I believe you mean _co_ -pilot.”

“I’ll have you know, Bodhi Rook, that before you came along…”

As per usual, the conversation from the cockpit devolved into the tension-releasing banter that inevitably followed a harrowing escape, and Cassian tuned out the bickering. He lifted a hand to Jyn’s face, running his knuckles gently down her cheek. 

“I would say we should stop cutting it so close,” he murmured, “but it does keep things interesting.”

“Mm,” Jyn said, and though her tone was noncommittal, her eyes were gleaming. She leaned up and touched her forehead to his.

“Cassian?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“Less talking,” she said. “More kissing.”

He was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

“Jyn,” he whispered, quite a bit later. He watched as she propped herself up against the bulkhead in the small quarters that passed for a bedroom on the ship, her eyelids fluttering in response to his voice. She’d nearly dropped off to sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing the stray locks from her face, watching her lips curve in a soft smile.

“What?” she murmured. Her eyes were still closed, but she tilted her face toward his hand.

Cassian took a deep breath. “Let’s get married.”

He kept his fingers running through her hair, but Jyn stopped moving. Slowly she opened her eyes, and he waited as she blinked the fatigue away, focusing on his face. 

“Cassian,” she said, a cautious note in her voice. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…we’re already engaged.”

As she spoke, her fingers wandered up the front of his jacket, delving beneath the fabric layers to fish out the betrothal pendant dangling from its leather cord. It was warm from hours spent nestled against his skin, slightly damp with sweat from when he’d run like a mynock out of hell away from the explosion, but Jyn didn’t seem to mind. She closed her fingers around it, giving a gentle but pointed tug.

“Yes, I know we’re engaged.” He made a mock face at her. “I haven’t exactly forgotten. What I meant was, let’s not wait any longer. Let’s get married right now.”

“What, here?” Jyn was fully awake now, her hazel eyes murky in the cabin’s dim light. “On the ship? In the middle of hyperspace?”

“Why not? What better time than here and now? I’m sure Chirrut would be happy to perform the ceremony, and we have Bodhi and Baze as witnesses. And Kay,” he added, though he wasn’t sure if droids really counted given the existence of memory wipes. “All I can think is…if the sixth explosion should turn out to be my last, I wouldn’t want to leave this galaxy without having been your husband.”

Jyn’s face softened, her lips parting. She sat up, winding her arms around Cassian’s shoulders, and let her mouth hover just above his ear. He felt the warm puff of her breath playing over his skin, and fought to suppress a shiver.

“Cassian,” Jyn whispered, her voice going low and breathy. “You have got it _so_ bad.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He grinned, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tugged her down to the bunk, muffling her laughter with his mouth. “In that case, I’ll show you _bad.”_

* * *

Much later, Cassian was the one mere moments away from sated slumber when he felt the press of Jyn’s skin against his, followed by her murmur:

“If we’re going to do this, I suppose I had better put on pants.”

It took him a moment to recall what _this_ referenced. Then he sat bolt upright so quickly he almost slammed his skull on the bulkhead. 

“Pants,” he said, swallowing down a mouthful of nothing. His throat was suddenly as parched as a Sarlacc lair. “Yes. That would be good.”

Jyn chuckled, trailing her fingers over his bare arm. “And here I thought you liked it when I didn’t wear pants.” 

“I cannot argue,” he said, sending a sly glance over his shoulder. “But perhaps not to one’s wedding.” 

“Perhaps not,” she agreed. “Where exactly did you fling them in your mad rush, anyway?”

For once, he didn’t mind that the cabin was so tiny and cramped. It took only a moment’s search to locate the garment, piled haplessly in the most distant corner. He helped Jyn slide them on, letting his fingertips linger on the gentle red blotches marking her inner thighs. 

She smirked. “We have this to thank for that,” she said, running a finger over his stubble. 

He _almost_ blushed. 

* * *

As he’d anticipated, the rest of the crew reacted to the announcement of the accelerated nuptials with no small amount of surprise, but it quickly passed into congratulations and a few hearty slaps on the back. Even K-2 kept his grumbling to a minimum. Deep down, they all knew: tomorrow was a hope, not a guarantee, especially in a galaxy where planet-killing weapons were a reality. Seizing the moment could be forgiven. 

At least, he hoped Mon Mothma and Senator Organa would think so. He’d occasionally caught them smothering smiles across the briefing room table when he spoke of Jyn. 

“My friends,” Chirrut intoned, spreading his hands wide. “The Force has gathered us here today to witness and celebrate the union of these two soldiers of freedom, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor—” 

“Who have already united several times since we entered hyperspace,” K-2 interjected, a distinct sour note in his vocabulator. 

Cassian closed his eyes. “Kay…”

“Sorry,” the droid said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

To Cassian’s gratitude, Chirrut continued on smoothly, his mellow smile never wavering. He kept the ceremony brief but poignant, and by the time the vows were exchanged and the solemn pronouncement _‘you may kiss’_ echoed through the room, Cassian felt as though he were floating, able to soar through hyperspace under his own power.

He’d never been so happy.

* * *

_Two years later_

“Don’t you _kriffing_ touch me, you Hutt-humping son of a diseased nerf!” Jyn bellowed.

Cassian covered his wince as his eardrums throbbed in protest. He raised his hands, palms out, and scooted back several inches, shooting a plaintive look toward his droid. “Kay, can’t you go any—”

“As I told you when you last asked that question forty-three seconds ago,” K-2 interrupted, “if I pilot the vehicle any faster, the odds of either crashing or being stopped by the local authorities are eighty-four percent.”

“Okay. Okay.” Cassian raked his fingers through his hair, already standing on end after his frantic leap from bed in the dead of night. “Just get us there as fast as you can, all right?”

“I am doing my very best,” K-2 said, somehow managing to sound offended. As though to punctuate the remark, a horn blared by the window as the speeder shot past a vehicle piddling along in the next lane over.

Cassian looked back to his wife. Jyn sat panting beside him, bracing herself against the backseat, one arm curved beneath the bulging expanse of her belly. Her gaze was fixed on him, her teeth bared, and he had the feeling that the look in her eyes could have obliterated a whole fleet of Death Stars without any need for structural plans or carefully laid traps. 

“This is…your…fault,” she hissed between her teeth. “‘Oh Jyn, let’s have a baby,’ you said. ‘The miracle of life,’ you said. You parasite-infested Sith-licking—”

Cassian was fairly sure he’d never said anything of the sort, but any protest he might have issued—had he been a far less sane man—would have been cut off anyway as Jyn’s progressively creative insults dissolved into a scream of agony. Instinct grabbed hold of him, and he seized her hand in both of his, holding on tight as she crushed his fingers with a strength he hadn’t known she possessed. 

He’d stared death in the face on more occasions than he cared to count. He’d volunteered for assignments that could easily have been termed suicide missions. Yet he’d never before felt anything that quite matched the cold tendrils of fear tightening around his heart. 

He had seen Jyn bereaved and grieving, battered and bruised, stripped down and submerged in bacta after missions gone terribly wrong, but he’d never seen her quite like this. 

“Hey,” he said, and risked reaching for her. His fingers slipped over her cheek, cupping the back of her neck. To his relief, she didn’t pull away. “It’s going to be all right. It’s gonna be over soon.”

He pulled her against him, pillowing her head on his chest, stroking the sweat-slicked hair back from her temples. Her fingers dug trenches in his jacket, then slowly relaxed as the contraction finally passed. 

“Define ‘soon,’” she groaned, muffled against his shirt.

Before Cassian could answer, K-2’s voice piped up from the front seat. 

“Perhaps this would be a good time to mention the many different occasions that I encouraged the use of contraceptives?” he said. He sounded obnoxiously cheerful.

Cassian felt Jyn’s shaky breath across his collarbone. 

“I’m going to kill him,” she murmured. 

He winced over the top of her head. “Please don’t. I’ll make it up to you. Somehow. I promise.”

“You’d better.” 

* * *

Somehow, against all odds, they made it to the hospital without any brushes with death, law enforcement, or newborns arriving on the speeder’s backseat. 

Med droids were already waiting when K-2 pulled the speeder up to the curb, and Cassian ran to keep pace with them, trying not to focus on the sound of Jyn’s moans forcing their way out through her gritted teeth. In the back of his mind, a tiny part of him was amazed at how his heart was roaring even faster than it did whenever he tried to outrun an explosion. 

The droids made a sharp turn into a small birthing chamber, balancing Jyn’s gurney between them. Cassian pivoted on his heel to follow them, and only then became aware of K-2’s footsteps behind him, a heavy clatter coming to an awkward halt. 

“I suppose I will just…wait out here,” K-2 said, even as his head craned to follow Jyn’s movements through the doorway.

“Yes, that would be best,” Cassian said, his mind already inside the room, where the med droids were trying their hardest to convince Jyn to climb onto the bed.

“Cassian?” K-2 sounded almost hesitant, an experience so rare and bizarre that Cassian would have been startled if he weren’t so distracted. But this was uncharted territory for all of them, wasn’t it?

“With modern technology and medicine,” K-2 was saying, “the vast majority of pregnancies have positive outcomes.” 

It was the small minority Cassian was worried about, but he didn’t voice the thought. He reached up, briefly laying his hand on the cool metal of the droid’s shoulder. 

“Thank you, Kay,” he said. 

_“No,”_ came Jyn’s voice from inside, brittle and raw, and Cassian’s whole being latched onto the sound, everything outside forgotten. Jyn was standing by the bed, clutching it with one hand, using the other to ward off the droids that hovered around her like overprotective parents. “I don’t want to lie down.” Her head shot up, catching sight of Cassian as he came through the door. “Cassian, I need to walk around. These droids won’t leave me alone. Where’s my blaster?” 

“I don’t think shooting the med droids would be the best course of action.” Cassian chose his words with care.

“You’re not the one trying to push something the size of a stinkmelon out a hole the size of—”

“Okay, okay.” He stepped toward her, weaving through the semicircle of med droids. “If you need to walk, you’ll walk. Do you want me to walk with you?”

She nodded, sharp and quick. Cassian slipped his arm around the small of her back, guiding her out into the hallway. To his relief, K-2 had retreated down to the far end of the hall, and remained mercifully silent. 

Jyn put one foot in front of the other with the slow but dogged determination of someone resigned to a gallows march, Cassian thought, then struck the notion from his mind as quickly as it had entered. He listened to the sound of her breathing, slowing his steps when her long inhalations turned to shorter, ragged gasps. 

“Contraction,” she bit out, unnecessarily. 

He eased her against the wall, both hands kneading at the small of her back. She wound her arms around his shoulders, fingers laced around the nape of his neck, nails digging in hard. He knew he’d have bruises later. He knew it was nothing compared to what she was enduring. 

They wore the hours down, pacing up and down, back and forth, like a pendulum swinging ever closer to inevitability. 

* * *

When the baby finally came, it happened far faster than Cassian had anticipated. 

Jyn arched back in the bed she’d finally climbed into, her fingers threatening to make ribbons of the sheets. She yelled, a sound that seemed as much a scream of rage as of pain, drowning out the med droids’ mindless encouraging noises. 

“Push!” one of the droids chirped, standing at the foot of the bed, its ocular units swiveling back and forth between Jyn’s thighs and her face. 

“I—” Jyn panted. “ _Am_ —pushing!” 

The words trailed off into another yell, and she seized Cassian’s hand. He felt his bones grinding against each other, but the pain seemed as distant as the stars. 

“Here comes the head,” the droid said, a soothing burble that turned Jyn’s face a unique shade of crimson. “Another push.”

Another push, another scream that rattled Cassian’s ears and made his breath jerk in his lungs.

Then, a second scream. It was smaller and more shrill, but drove into Cassian’s heart all the same.

“Congratulations,” the med droid said, holding up a wrinkled bloodstained bundle topped with tufts of wet dark hair. “It’s a girl.”

Jyn sagged back in the bed, her eyes rolling to the ceiling until the whites showed. “Thank the _kriffing_ Force.”

Cassian felt his jaw flapping like a flag in the breeze. He looked from Jyn to the baby and back again, torn between two equal forces, both stronger than anything he’d felt in his life. 

His wife won out.

“Jyn,” he whispered, slipping his hand beneath her head. Her hair was almost sopping against his palm. “You—are you—”

She opened her eyes, an exhausted but blissful smile winding across her face, and the bolt of relief that hit him was as sudden and strong as a ship exiting hyperspace. 

“You did it,” he breathed, awe and love nearly trapping the words in his throat. 

Her smile softened, her hand finding his. “Cassian…I’m glad you’re here.”

As if he could possibly be anywhere else. 

A humming noise made him turn, still clutching Jyn’s hand, and he saw the med droid holding his daughter. The infant was already cleaned and swaddled, and her mouth dropped open in a tiny yawn as the droid transferred her to his arms. 

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stare until Jyn’s impatient voice broke through the stupor. 

“Let me see her.”

He turned, slipping the baby into Jyn’s arms, watching her run a fingertip over the dark hair, the snub nose, the tiny grasping fingers. 

“Why is it so red and lumpy?”

The sudden interjection made Cassian start, and he turned to see K-2 leaning over his shoulder, staring down at the baby with as quizzical an expression as a droid could muster. 

“Cassian.” K-2 sounded almost perplexed. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

“Quiet,” Jyn said from the bed, looking up from the bundle in her arms, but Cassian heard laughter in her voice. “Or we won’t pick _Kay_ for her middle name, after all.”

K-2 took a step back, his head swiveling between Cassian and Jyn. “What?”

Jyn let out a soft breath, satisfaction stealing across her face. “Lyra Kay Erso-Andor.”

Amazingly, K-2 was quiet for two long breaths. 

“Jyn Erso,” he finally said, eye circuits dimming, brightening, and dimming again. “Thank you.”

Jyn shrugged one shoulder, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “It was Cassian’s idea.”

Cassian felt himself perch on the side of the bed, moving slowly, as though working his way through a dream. He slipped one arm over Jyn’s shoulder, the other moving up to gently cup the baby’s head. He felt Jyn’s head tilt up, and he looked down to meet her grinning eyes. She hooked her fingers in his collar, tugging him down for a kiss.

“Welcome home,” she whispered against his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note on an exception to the "everyone lives/no one dies" tag on this story: Galen is still dead. And I suppose Krennic is probably dead, too. Everyone else is still alive, though!

Bodhi knew the question was coming. He felt the inevitability of it in his bones, sure as the setting of the sun, sure as Darth Vader’s penchant for the color black. But he had his response prepared. He was ready. 

Then it came. And somehow it still caught him off guard, and his careful preparation deserted him.

“Would you like to hold her?” Jyn asked. She was already up on her feet and walking around the little hospital room, bouncing an impossibly tiny white-swaddled bundle against her shoulder. 

“No,” Bodhi said. “I mean—yes. Yes, I would like to. Absolutely.” 

He closed his eyes and waited for the meaty _thwack_ of Jyn’s baton across his face. Instead, he heard a peal of laughter. 

“It’s perfectly fine if you don’t,” Jyn said, her eyes sparking with mischief. She leaned toward him, never pausing in her rhythmic swaying and bouncing, and lowered her voice. “To be honest, I was never much for babies myself before this one came along.”

“No, I mean—I really do. I really would like to hold her.” Bodhi swallowed hard, his heart thumping painfully even though it was the truth. “It’s just that she’s so _small.”_

Jyn shrugged one shoulder, a nonchalant twist to her mouth. “Didn’t seem that way when she was coming out.”

“Uh,” Bodhi said, feeling all the blood rush to his face. Across the room, he saw Cassian briefly press his palm to his eyes. 

Jyn just beamed, though that irreverent smirk still lingered on her face. “Here,” she said, and extended her daughter toward Bodhi’s arms. 

Bodhi breathed in deep, let half of it out, feeling like the first time he’d taken an actual cargo shuttle out of the docking bay after hundreds of hours practicing in simulations. He reached out, keeping his hands as still as possible. _Just like holding a ship steady on the descent to the landing pad,_ he told himself, taking another long breath. 

He almost jumped out of his skin when Jyn laughed again. “Relax, Bodhi,” she said, taking advantage of his distraction to deposit the bundle in his arms. “She’s the daughter of two battle-tested rebels. She’s not going to break. I promise.”

True to her word, the infant did feel solid and steady in his arms, giving off so much warmth that Bodhi briefly hoped no heat-seeking missiles were in the area. He gently bobbed up and down, trying to match Jyn’s easy movements. It felt a little strange at first, but he adjusted, and was rewarded when the baby opened her eyes with a drowsy burble.

Bodhi pushed past a sudden lump in his throat, his eyes darting to Jyn and back.

“She has your nose,” he said, partly because he could see it, a little bit, and partly because it was the sort of thing you were supposed to say to new parents. 

“Well, thank the Force for that.” Jyn waggled her eyebrows at her husband across the room. “Have you ever seen how long and crooked Cassian’s nose is?”

“Hey,” Cassian said. Dark furrows carved through his brow, but his eyes never left Jyn, and Bodhi could see the affection shining through. “You see how pretty _your_ nose looks after it’s been broken in the line of duty. Twice.”

“Mm,” Jyn said as Cassian came alongside her. She reached up, tapping against the bridge of his nose with her pinky finger. “Well, I still like it.”

Cassian’s eyes were soft as water, dropping to the line of Jyn’s throat, and Bodhi looked back down to baby Lyra.

“It’s a good thing you and I are here, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Otherwise your parents might already be getting started on a little sister or brother for you.”

The baby regarded him through half-lidded gray-green eyes that, he thought, looked a little skeptical. He had just enough time to be suddenly, strongly reminded of Galen, and then the infant screwed up her face, opened her tiny mouth, and let out the most piercing shriek Bodhi had ever heard. 

“Oh. Oh dear.” He found himself embroiled in a sudden battle to juggle four angrily flailing limbs. “I guess that was the wrong thing to say, huh?”

“It’s all right.” Cassian appeared at his side like the Force itself had propelled him there, reaching down to pluck the baby from Bodhi’s arms with natural deftness. “She probably needs her diaper changed. Come here, little one,” he murmured, crooning something in a fluid language Bodhi didn’t understand, cradling Lyra against his chest and whisking her off to the far side of the room. 

“There,” Jyn said. She stepped up to give Bodhi a pat on the shoulder. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Well.” Bodhi pretended to consider. “I appreciate you not putting me on diaper-changing duty.”

“Oh, of course not.” Jyn put on a very serious face. “Cassian gets that honor for the time being, lucky man that he is. He owes me for not shooting K-2 while I was in labor.”

“Lucky indeed. Oh, I nearly forgot.” Bodhi reached around to his pack, fishing through the layers of equipment and other assorted knick-knacks. “I have something for you. Well, for her, really. I suppose.”

His fingers closed around something soft, and he pulled it from the bag, holding it out to Jyn. It was a tiny sweater in a shade of muted sage green, accompanied by a matching cap. 

He watched Jyn’s eyes go round. “Did you make this?” she asked, her voice quiet with something that sounded like awe, running her fingers over the soft loops of yarn. 

“Yeah.” Bodhi bobbed his shoulders in a motion that was more of a fidget than a shrug. “I took up knitting a while back, before I even defected. It helps with the—well, with everything. The memories. The rest of it.” He forced his restless hands to still by his sides, trying not to think of the Bor Gullet’s tentacles winding sticky trails on his skin, pulling the threads of his mind apart one by one. 

He yanked his thoughts back to the present with an effort, and put on a smile. “It was your father, actually, who got me started knitting.”

Jyn’s head jerked up, the sweater going slack in her hands. “What?”

Her look of surprise was so comical Bodhi couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, not the knitting specifically,” he amended. “I picked that up myself. But it was your father who suggested taking up an activity like that, in my spare time. Something I could do with my hands, something repetitive, calming. To help take my mind off things. And he said your favorite color was green, at least back when you were a girl. Green like the harvest crops on Lah’mu. I know it’s probably not the exact right shade, but—”

The stream of words was cut off as Jyn threw her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

He brought his arms up, tentative at first, and wrapped them beneath her shoulder blades. Even after years in the Rebellion, it still startled him at times, how good something as simple as a hug could feel. 

Over Jyn’s shoulder he saw Cassian smiling at them, the baby sleeping in his arms. His face was quiet, relaxed, devoid of its usual worry lines. Content, Bodhi decided. Peaceful, even. 

And to his surprise, he felt something close to peace, himself.

* * *

Jyn and Cassian’s living quarters on the Alliance base weren’t exactly lavish. It wasn’t practical to cover the rooms with mounds of thick carpeting and gild-coated furniture when odds were high that it would all need to be picked up and moved—or abandoned altogether—on a moment’s notice, should the Empire discover the base’s location. 

Jyn didn’t mind. Her earliest memories were of a plush apartment on Coruscant, funded by Imperial credits, filled with tasteful furnishings and the scents of nova lily and sunblossom. She didn’t miss it at all. Far more pleasant were her recollections of her family’s homestead on Lah’mu, small but well-kept, bursting with golden light on summer mornings, smelling of heavy rains and the dirt under her fingernails. And _any_ dwelling was better than the cold gloom of an Imperial labor camp cell. 

At this particular moment, however, she was far past taking notice of her surroundings. She marched into the small bedroom, barely pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, towing Cassian behind her.

“Come on,” she said, practically panting, giving his wrist a sharp tug. Not that he needed much encouragement. “We won’t have a lot of time before the baby wakes.”

“You’re sure you are ready for this?” Cassian asked, even as Jyn planted her hands on his chest and propelled him toward the bed. Despite the caution in his words, she didn’t miss the hitch in his voice, the rapid cadence of his breathing, or the way his pupils were blown wide as he looked at her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” She pushed him down to the edge of the bed, only wincing a little as she straddled him. “All right, I’m still a little sore. But I can manage. At least the bleeding’s finally stopped.”

He wet his lips, eyes bright in the lamplight. “If you’re sure,” he said, voice going low and throaty, accent thickening, hands sliding up her sides. 

Jyn leaned forward and silenced him with a kiss. “Does this look unsure to you?” she whispered, grinning against his mouth. 

He murmured something she didn’t quite catch, then his mouth was on her neck, his hands roving on her skin, and for a brief moment she forgot everything but the warm haze stealing over her body and the incessant drumming in her ears. 

Then the sound of an infant’s distant wailing reached her, breaking through the fog. She sucked in a deep breath, disentangling from Cassian, tilting her head toward the door.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Listen.”

He paused, then groaned, slumping forward until his forehead clunked against her collarbone. 

“I’ll go see to her,” he said, lifting his head for one more quick, fierce kiss. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep, okay?”

Jyn gave a wicked smile and snatched up his hand, pressing it over her thundering heart. 

“No need to worry about _that_ ,” she said.

The look he gave her almost seared her, and then he was gone, straightening his clothes and disappearing through the doorway.

She waited, jumping up from the bed and burning off her excess energy with a quick, sharp march back and forth across the floor, ears tuned to the sound of her daughter’s cries. She’d felt woefully unprepared for all the challenges and possibilities of parenting, but thus far little Lyra had been an unexpectedly well-tempered baby, often mollified with little more than a warm blanket or a soothing word.

Even so, Jyn felt a jolt of surprise when the infant’s cries faded after no more than a minute, followed by the soft but still recognizable tread of Cassian’s footsteps. She arched her eyebrows at him as he came through the door, closing it gently behind him.

“That was fast,” she said. “What did you do, sing her a lullaby?”

(The child _loved_ her father’s lullabies. It was almost enough to make Jyn jealous. Almost.)

“No, not this time.” Cassian ran a hand through his hair, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “She stopped crying before I even got to the room. When I looked in, she was fast asleep.”

“Lucky for us, then.” Jyn held out her hands, beckoning, and Cassian reached her in a single step. He took her hands in both of his, lifting them to his mouth, pressing kisses to her palms, her knuckles, her fingertips. Heat flared in Jyn’s blood, and she hooked one hand around the back of Cassian’s neck, drawing him in closer. 

“Come here,” she whispered, needlessly. He was already pressed against her, filling in her empty spaces. She felt the rasp of his stubble on her cheek, the warmth of his breath on her neck, the delicious ache of his hips flush against hers. 

Then the baby screamed again.

Jyn tilted her head back on her shoulders, looked to the ceiling, and whispered the most blistering curse she could muster. Cassian chuckled, a rueful sound, and drew her gaze with a brush of his thumb over her cheek. 

“Welcome to parenthood,” he said, his smile amused and resigned all at once. 

“Why did we think having a baby was a good idea?” Jyn grumbled. She stepped out of the warm circle of Cassian’s arms with a sigh. “All right, my turn this time. I’ll be right back.”

She made a fruitless attempt to smooth her mussed hair as she strode down the short hallway to the storage closet that had been re-invented as a nursery, painted in shades of soft green and gold rather than the utilitarian grays and browns that covered the rest of the base. Just before she reached the door, the crying abruptly ceased, bringing her up short. 

“Lyra?” she called softly, touching one finger to the door’s opening panel. It slid open with an almost soundless hiss, and Jyn stepped inside, muffling each step on the balls of her feet. 

She looked down into the crib and saw her daughter’s sleeping face, tiny fists balled and twitching as though in a dream—though she didn’t know if children even _could_ dream this early in life. She stood poised over the crib for several moments, watching Lyra’s chest rise and fall. The baby was snug in a knitted lavender onesie, courtesy of Bodhi, and the dark hair she’d inherited from her father was already growing in fast, sticking out in a wild variety of directions. 

Behind her, Jyn heard a soft clatter. She whirled, hands automatically grasping for a blaster that somehow failed to be holstered in her flimsy nightgown.

“Who’s there?” she demanded through gritted teeth. “Cassian?”

A shadow moved outside the door, and she saw a quick flash of light glinting on optic circuits.

“Don’t be alarmed, Jyn,” K-2 said, raising his hands as though she had a weapon trained on him. “It’s only me.”

“Kay.” Jyn huffed out a breath, deflating back against the crib. “What are you doing here? It’s late.” 

Then she drew herself up, suspicion flashing across her face. 

“Did you hear Lyra crying just a minute ago?” she asked.

K-2 paused, as though deep in thought. 

“No,” he finally said, his voice a little louder, a little more stilted than usual. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Kay.” Jyn hardened her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” the droid insisted. 

Jyn didn’t move. 

“Oh, very well.” K-2 sounded for all the world like he was about to heave a gusty mechanical sigh. “It was me.”

He pressed a button on his chassis, and the sound of Lyra’s cries filtered through an unseen speaker, so uncannily accurate that they must have been a playback of a recording. 

“What—” Jyn opened her mouth, then closed it with an audible snap, reining in on the first words that sprang to her mind. The baby was still in earshot, after all. 

“Why would you do that?” she hissed instead. “Kay, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny. Cassian and I are exhausted, and this is the first moment we’ve had to ourselves since—”

“That’s not why,” K-2 interrupted. He sounded unusually solemn. 

Jyn threw her hands in the air. “All right, then. Enlighten me.”

“When you were giving birth,” K-2 said, the words slow as though he had rehearsed them, “it was very difficult. You were in a great deal of pain. You were suffering. And Cassian was afraid. He didn’t want to show it, but I could tell. He was afraid.”

He looked away from her, reaching down to pick up a datapad, poking at the buttons. Jyn tried to process the words, but her mind felt sluggish, uncomprehending. _From the lack of sleep,_ she thought. _It must be._

“So…” she said. “You’re trying to protect me from getting pregnant again?”

K-2 continued stabbing at the datapad, shuffling it in his metal fingers. He said nothing.

Jyn reached out and gently extricated the datapad, setting it aside. “I’m surprised you’re so concerned with my safety,” she said, echoing his words to her from years ago, letting a touch of humor filter through her voice. 

She expected a sardonic response, like the one she’d given him back then. Instead, he swiveled to look at her, meeting her eyes for the first time.

“You are central to Cassian’s happiness,” he said. “If he were to lose you…” His optics flickered. “I cannot calculate probabilities for what would happen.”

Jyn opened her mouth to reply, but found no words.

“Besides,” K-2 continued. “You are one of us now, Jyn. You have been for quite some time.”

Jyn blinked. For a moment, she could almost feel the warm sharp prickle of tears gathering at the back of her throat, but it was probably just the post-birth hormones. Even so, she dashed a knuckle briefly across her eyes. 

“That means a lot to me, Kay,” she said. “Thank you.”

The droid inclined his head. “You’re welcome.”

“But.” Jyn raised a finger. “It’s been five weeks and three days. And patience isn’t exactly my strongest suit.” She leaned in toward K-2, lowering her voice until it was just above a whisper. “I really, really need to have sex with my husband.”

K-2 stared back at her with his unblinking optics. For a moment, Jyn braced herself, waiting for him to launch into an indignant lecture about how her use of the word _need_ was a grievous exaggeration, that the human body was perfectly capable of surviving without physical relations, and that organics in general could benefit from a great deal more self-control. 

Instead, all he said was, “I see.”

Jyn rather hoped he didn’t _really._ She allowed herself a brief moment to wonder at the course her life had taken, the paths she’d chosen, all of it somehow leading her to a late-night discussion about her sex life with a reprogrammed Imperial droid.

She didn’t typically devote much thought to the will of the Force, but she had to admit, sometimes it worked in mysterious ways. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “we’re using protection for the foreseeable future. We love Lyra, but one baby is quite enough for the time being.”

“Oh.” K-2 straightened, his circuits whirring in a way that shouldn’t have sounded as _relieved_ as it did. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re finally taking my advice.”

“Right. So, we’re good?” Jyn gave him a meaningful look. “No more recorded playback of the baby crying?”

“We have reached an understanding,” K-2 said, which wasn’t exactly a _yes_ , but Jyn found it was close enough. 

* * *

She toggled the control panel on the bedroom door and practically fell through, catching sight of Cassian sitting up on the bed, scrolling through reports on his hand terminal. His head jerked up when she entered, and he pinned her with a look that stoked the dull throb in her blood to a blazing roar. 

“All better?” he said, voice husky, almost strained. Jyn hid a smile, wondered how long he’d been reading and re-reading the same report.

She slipped onto the bed and climbed in his lap, arms twining around his neck. “It’s been taken care of,” she said coyly, and leaned down, pressing her lips to the edge of his jaw. “Now…where were we?”

Cassian hissed out a long breath, one hand finding her hip, the other tangling in the hem of her nightgown, dragging it up her legs so slowly she thought she would combust. 

“Right about here,” he whispered, and leaned in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the idea of Bodhi knitting goes to [this post](http://saintvader.tumblr.com/post/154723307743/i-need-a-fix-it-rebelcaptainpilot-au-where-after) by saintvader on Tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

“Here, now. Hold it like this. That’s right. Make sure your finger never leaves that trigger. That’s very important to remember. Your whole life could depend on it. Do you understand?”

Jyn stood back, leaning against the doorway, watching Baze Malbus position a small toy blaster in her daughter’s hands. Next to little Lyra, he was massive, a mountain trying to instruct a squishy lump of dirt. His face was the definition of serious, implacable as a glacier, and Lyra’s hands disappeared entirely in the breadth of his finger and thumb. 

“Baze,” Jyn said, suppressing the laughter that wanted to break through her voice. “You are aware she’s eleven months old, aren’t you?”

He turned the ferocity of his gaze on her, a stare that would have made most people quail. Jyn wasn’t most people. 

“It is never too early to begin learning,” he said.

“Oh, I agree.” Jyn pushed off the door and knelt down to get a better view of the proceedings. “Just don’t expect a response from her, is all I’m saying. Not a coherent one, anyway. She still hasn’t even said her first real word. You might get a lot of ‘ba-ba-goo-ga-ee-ee’ if you keep at it, though.”

Baze's stare intensified. Jyn shrugged.

“Don’t ask me,” she said. “Some days I’m not sure if I’m attempting to raise a child or a Kowakian monkey-lizard.”

“Hmm.” Baze returned his attention to Lyra, his expression shifting just slightly into something that might almost be called _pride._ “She has a strong grip, even at this age. Good. She gets that from you, I think.”

“That’s her stubbornness she gets from me, more likely. It takes a lot of obstinance to keep holding onto batons once you’re in the thick of battle.” Jyn kept her tone mild, but her mind flashed back to memories of a different grip altogether, her fingers digging like a vise into the side of Scarif’s data vault, then going slack with horror as she’d watched Cassian plummet farther than any human should. She pushed the image away, focusing on her daughter— _their_ daughter. It was easier to shove the old fears and furies into the back of her mind when she looked at Lyra and saw the thick dark of Cassian’s hair, the color of his skin, the shape of his mouth. 

Then Lyra lifted the toy blaster, pointed it into the distance and shrieked with delight, and that made it easier still. 

“Very good,” Baze was saying, a rare smile lighting his face. “The stormtroopers will not stand a chance against you, little niece.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Jyn looked over her shoulder and saw Cassian standing in the doorway, arms crossed, mirroring her earlier posture. His eyes were fixed on Lyra, but she saw something dark in his expression. Something troubled.

She turned toward him, reaching out to let her hand brush his wrist. They tried to keep displays of affection subtle when in the presence of others, but it was hard not to touch him when she’d just been fighting to banish memories of his close brush with death. He was there in front of her, warm and solid and alive, and she could feel his pulse jump beneath her thumb.

“What’s the matter?” she said, keeping her voice low. 

His eyes met hers, and his expression eased, but only a little. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Only that if Lyra ever has to fire on stormtroopers, it will mean that we will have failed.”

He went silent a moment, but Jyn waited, watching something weighty pass over his face. “I don’t want that for her,” he continued, his eyes dropping to the floor. “The childhood that I had. That you had. It seems strange,” he went on, his voice almost reluctant. “To see her holding a weapon, even a toy one. Before she’s even said her first word. It feels like…it’s inevitable.”

“I know,” Jyn said, and it was the truth. The two of them knew better than anyone the horrors and hardships of growing up as a child soldier. “But it isn’t inevitable, Cassian. She won’t have the childhood you and I had. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

To her relief, he met her eyes, and a smile broke through the cloud over his face. 

“If anyone could take down the Empire single-handedly with nothing but sheer determination,” he said, “it would be you.” 

Jyn tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Well, perhaps sheer determination and a few well-placed grenades.”

She drew alongside him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched Baze correct Lyra’s grip on the brightly-colored plastic blaster. 

“Even if we both die,” Jyn said softly, “I know she’ll grow up cared for. Look at how good Baze is with her, and Chirrut, not to mention Bodhi spoiling her downright rotten. I’ve even seen Mon Mothma stop by the nursery a few times to tickle her belly. It’s different here, different from how it was for us when we were children. This isn’t anything like it was with Saw. I know he loved me in his own way, but not like this. Never like this.” 

Cassian said nothing, but he held out his hand, and she took it. His fingers slid alongside hers, warm and comforting, and she felt all his familiar callouses, roughened from hours of gripping blasters and ship controls.

Yet she knew there was nothing he clung to more tightly than hope.

A squeal from Lyra interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up just in time to see her daughter hurl the toy gun across the room with all the force her eleven-month-old limbs could muster. Baze let out a disapproving sigh, and Jyn felt Cassian’s quiet laughter at her side. 

“You must be patient with the child, Baze,” Chirrut spoke up from his spot across the room. He perched cross-legged on a bench near the window, his head tilted up toward the afternoon breeze, his usual mild knowing smile on his face. “There is plenty of time yet for her to learn.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening as he listened to Lyra’s stream of constant, lilting babble. It was incomprehensible even to Jyn’s ears, but she could tell Chirrut was listening intently. Perhaps, with his connection to the Force, he could pick out meanings that she couldn’t.

“Hmm. That, right there, almost sounded like a word,” he said, affectionate amusement threading through his voice. 

Baze grunted. “You will know her first word when you hear it. And I can tell you now what it is going to be.”

Chirrut laughed. “And now he can see the future!”

“It’s going to be ‘no,’” Baze continued, shooting a mock glare at Chirrut. “Because that is what every child’s first word is.”

“Just because it was _your_ first word, Baze Malbus, does not mean it will be Lyra’s.” Chirrut rose and walked over to the baby, scooping her up into his arms without hesitation. She patted at his face, cooing softly. 

“I think,” Chirrut said, “your first word will be ‘Force.’ Or ‘kyber,’ perhaps. Can you say ‘kyber,’ Lyra?”

Lyra gave a wide gap-toothed smile, then let out a long string of noises, none of which sounded the least bit like ‘kyber.’ 

Jyn laughed. “I wouldn’t mind if ‘kyber’ were her first word,” she said, propping her chin on Cassian’s shoulder. “Cassian is convinced it’s going to be ‘papa.’” 

“I’m not _convinced,”_ he protested. “That’s just what I hope it’s going to be.”

Jyn raised her eyebrows, unable to hold back a cheeky grin. “Hope?”

He turned toward her, and her favorite smile of his dawned across his face, the one that was quiet and soft and full of their history. He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Lyra sat up in Chirrut’s arms, waved her little fists, and spoke one single clear word.

“Hope!”

The room fell silent. 

Chirrut was the first to recover, swinging Lyra high up in the air, up and down until she burst into happy giggles. “Very good!” he said. “That’s even better than ‘kyber,’ isn’t it?”

Jyn was aware, at the back of her mind, that her face was aching. It took a moment to realize that she was grinning from ear to ear. Beside her, Cassian was beaming, radiating quiet pride. 

Even Baze wore a small smile, though as he looked to Chirrut and Lyra, he arched his brows in his trademark expression that usually preceded a pointed remark. 

“That still sounded like ‘no’ to me,” he said.

* * *

The Rebel base never truly slept. Even in the most pitch black night cycle hours, a skeleton crew manned the consoles, monitored radio chatter, decrypted intercepted Imperial transmissions, kept eyes on the sky in case the hulking shadow of a Star Destroyer should emerge. 

K-2SO never truly slept, either. Many nights he strode up and down the hallways, head swiveling back and forth to take in all the sights, making sure everything was as it should be. Making sure his fellow compatriots who _did_ need sleep could do so in peace.

Tonight, however, he had a mission. He marched down the hall at his optimum pace, making a sharp turn to the right and touching the door panel that led to Lyra’s nursery. It slid open, and he walked through, softening his footfalls just enough so that the baby wouldn’t start screaming.

She was awake, as predicted. He’d calculated an 88.2% probability that she would be alert and staring up at the mobile above her bed, kicking her feet and talking to herself. K-2 approached the bed and stared down at her, wishing he was able to cross his arms in annoyance the way humans did. He _could,_ in a manner of speaking, but his joints didn’t move with quite the same flexibility as an organic. That, and the screeching sound of metal against metal tended to alarm humans for some reason. 

He settled for reaching down into the bed and delivering a single poke to the baby’s soft belly. She looked up at him and giggled, entirely unfazed. 

“Young lady,” he said, sternly. “I heard you spoke your first word today.”

It would have been impossible _not_ to hear—it was all over the base. Some simply gave the matter a passing smile, then moved on with their duties. Others were all in a tizzy, thinking it was a sign from the Force that the child of two of the Rebellion’s most decorated heroes had said _hope_ as her first word. 

K-2 was not in either camp.

“We discussed this,” he said, with exaggerated slowness. “Do you remember? For many hours over many days, when your parents were busy with…other things. I told you what your first word was supposed to be. I repeated it many times. It was supposed to be _Kay.”_

The baby just burbled, looking innocent. 

“Well, perhaps having it as your second word will do,” K-2 said. “It is your middle name, after all. You can say it now, can’t you? Kay. Say _Kay.”_

Lyra stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. It seemed, according to K-2’s calculations, that she looked thoughtful. 

Then she stretched her arms toward him, her face lighting up with a huge smile.

“Papa!” she said.

K-2 froze. He looked over his shoulder, expecting Cassian to be standing there.

Nothing. 

And for the first time in as far back as his memory banks went, K-2SO found himself speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have probably one more chapter of this to go, then it'll be done! I have a couple more Rebelcaptain plot bunnies brewing, including one that I've already written 4000+ words on...oops.


End file.
